Man's Best Friend
by BlackRaptor93
Summary: When Dogmeat falls ill, a deadly siege begins between Man and Beast from which only one will survive! ONESHOT, Halloween Special


**A.N/ This story is inspired by the novel 'Cujo' by Stephen King, one of my favourite novels by one of my favourite writers. I wrote this for Halloween, but decided to put it up a few days early. Please Read and Review!**

He was out there.

The heat inside the small shack was blistering, though it was better than being outside – more so because HE was out there somewhere… perhaps sheltering from the heat at the back of the ramshackle dwelling but even so…

The shack was comprised of two rooms, a kitchen and a bedroom divided by a partition that ran from the longest edge across and was sparsely decorated by wallpaper that must have been there since before the bombs had dropped. James, the hero of the wastes, was sat in the kitchen at the opposite end of the room from the door, along the long edge where the partition started, sitting beside an old refrigerator that hadn't seen power since long before James was born. He had no idea who this shack had once belonged to or who lived in it even up until recently, besides a few Radroaches that James had stamped on once he was safe.

The Lone Wander sighed, looking to his hand that had been mauled two days before. The blood had dried but it stung awfully bad, a dull throb. James grunted, wiping his brow of the sweat that rolled down in beads, wishing he had his Hunting Rifle right now. That too, was laying outside in the Wasteland, just daring him to take a step outside – it wasn't far away from the large wooden door that was part way down the wall to the Lone Wanderers left, past the disused oven, but it was TOO far. And besides, two days without food or water was making his head swim and his mouth felt like Deathclaw hide.

The windows where covered by planks of wood that made viewing almost impossible apart from a gap where a thin beam of sunlight protruded into the shack like a ray of hope from god.

James snorted at the idea – God wouldn't have trapped him, in this small run down shack, while his best-friend (indeed, his only real friend) tried to kill him. His best friend was not a man or ghoul, but a dog. From his time in the vault, James had recognised the dog (Dogmeat, his name was) as a Blue Heeler when they had first met in the Scrapyard slightly north of the river not seven months previous, attacking the raiders responsible for his old masters death. He was a large, stocky dog, big for his kind, with black and silver fur, two different coloured eyes, one blue and one brown… but Dogmeat was loyal, kind and a best friend who loved his new master regardless, and would have died for him had it been called for.

Tears began to brim in the mans eyes as the memories came back, but they where swiftly stopped when he heard a scrabble coming from the windowsill, and suddenly the shaft of light was gone, replaced by a soft, menacing growl.

James froze, turning his head he nearly screamed.

There, peering through the gap with red, rheumy eyes was Dogmeat. Well, the dog that had ONCE been Dogmeat, but it wasn't him anymore. Not the same dog he had been not a week previous. His fur was matted with dirt, and from his eyes ran a thick sap like substance not too dissimilar from the sap he had seen on Harold in the oasis. Those same eyes glared at him – there was no glass in the windows, so the dog's breath drifted into his nostrils, almost making him gag. The foam that had been dripping from his jaws was gone, licked away or gathered by the ground, but some still stayed around his muzzle like toothpaste. Dogmeat's front paws where visible, too, as he held onto the window ledge like a mockery of a human, almost upright.

_HE SHOULD BE DEAD!_ James screamed in his mind, remembering how he was sure one of the dogs ribs had snapped in the attack, how Dogmeat had thrown himself against the door – surely it should have died! It has been two days without food or water!

But no, Dogmeat was still alive and he had no doubt it would cling to life until Dogmeat died, or James had no throat. And he was pretty sure of the outcome.

After what seemed like an eternity, Dogmeat gave a spine-chilling bark and dropped back down to the ground. The Lone Wanderer dimly heard the patter of paws as the dog padded around the back of the house, out of the sun.

Sighing again, and wishing he was somewhere else, the Lone Wanderer pulled his brimmed hat over his eyes and began to drift away into the darkness of sleep…

***

_"Dogmeat?"  
James called out across the Wasteland, worried now. The Blue Heeler had vanished three hours ago, and had not returned. James was worried – though the dog was tough and could fend for himself, there where things out there he couldn't deal with, and James couldn't bare to loose him. More pressingly, Dogmeat had been feeling unwell and irritable the past few days after he had been bitten by another, wild dog in downtown DC. The wound had been patched up, but something was defiantly wrong. James promised himself to return to Megaton as soon as he could to get him checked out._

It had been six months since James had got the letter to join the Regulators, a group of Wasteland cowboys whose mission it was to fight criminals. Finding it as something to alleviate the boredom and monotony of Wasteland life, James had agreed. All the required was a finger, proof of the kill.

He had donned the Regulator duster and a very nice brimmed had he had plucked from the bastard Mr Burke, and had worn them as much as he could – this was his purpose, it seemed.

Now, as he stood outside of a shack that stood on top of a small plateau south of Old Olney, James gave a soft sigh. It had been a long, drawn out firefight with the group of Raiders that had assaulted him on his search not twenty minutes ago.

James paused, slinging his rifle. As he reached down for the first Raiders hand, there was a snarl behind him. James spun, and came face-to-face with Dogmeat, who had rounded a large rock formation not ten meters behind. But this wasn't HIS Dog, was it? The eyes where red, bloodshot and gummed up, his lips curled back over teeth – he was angry, maybe? Maybe there was a threat nearby No, something was wrong.

Dogmeat saw HIM as the threat.

"Dogmeat?" James whispered, taking a step back. And that's what spurred the Heeler to lunge.

James span, fear driving him towards the heavy shack door. There was a snarl and the sound of paws kicking up dirt, then nothing – and suddenly, the full weight of Dogmeat ploughed into James's back and knocked him sprawling to the floor, the hunting rifle strap snapping and his gun was flicked end over end away from him.

He rolled over, the dog shifting as it struggled to keep its balance, back feet braced on the gravel as the dog lunged for his throat with a snarl. James grabbed Dogmeat's muzzle with both hands, the foam nearly making him vomit as the dog shook itself, trying to get free. He managed to get his feet up and kicked Dogmeat hard enough to send him rolling away, giving James enough time to mount his feet before Dogmeat lunged again. James, instinct driving him, kicked out again and caught the dog in the head, sending him wheeling away with a yelp.

James ran into the shack, heaving the door open he span, about to shut it…

When Dogmeat lunged for him, jaws open wide. James screamed as he felt teeth sink deep into his hand, shaking violently left and right. He drew the door back one handed, and slammed it shut on Dogmeat's side. There was a crack and Dogmeat seemed to scream, letting go and drawing back as James slammed the door shut, slumped down it and cried, blood flowing from his injured hand like rain.

Still Dogmeat threw himself against the door with a bark and a snarl, though it faded after a while into nothingness…

***  


James awoke with a silent cry, shaking for a moment he remembered where he was. The sun was just setting across the Wasteland, and James knew he needed to get out. Perhaps it was from lack of water that made this thought the only one worth noticing, but he knew he had to escape, to get anywhere but here.

He staggered to his feet, stumbling for the door he failed to hear the almost silent steps that came from outside, drawn by something with hearing far more advanced than what should have been possible…

James gripped the door clumsily and heavily, drew it open and took his first step outside in forty eight hours-

Dogmeat was there, crouched down like a gargoyle from the Citadel.

The Blue Heeler had lain in wait outside the door when it had heard the footsteps inside, determined to end his masters life, fuelled by madness and pain, from lack of food or water.

James span just in time to be sent crashing to the ground by Dogmeat, who snarled and went for his throat. James yelped and twisted, the momentum of the bite and the turn making Dogmeat overshoot and roll into the dirt where he gained his feet with stiff legs, snarling and barking.

James was lost in his madness and in his exhaustion began to scream as he spied his Rife, still lying where it had fallen days previous.

"COMEONE THEN YOU BASTARD! I DON'T GIVE A SHIT!" He screamed, as Dogmeat lowered his head, waving too and fro like a snake, fresh slime dripping from his jaws.

James made a grab for his rifle just as the dying ruin that had once been his best friend lunged for him for the last time. James snatched up his rifle as he felt fangs crunch through his coat and into his arm, blood flowing down his arm as the two pairs of eyes met for the final time…

James, fighting the pain, had just enough strength to kick Dogmeat away once more, raise his rifle and pull the trigger.

Dogmeat fell to the floor, blood running from the clean shot to the head. James began to sob softly as he realised what he had done, gaining his feet he slung his rifle, picked up the corpse of his best friend and stumbled away towards the very distant Megaton, weak and weary.

James, despite his education, had never heard of Rabies. He didn't know his bites where infected, he didn't know even as he got too exhausted to continue, as he fell to the ground, as the convulsions began, as he slipped into a Coma not twelve miles from Megaton.

So the Lone Wanderer and his faithful best friend where never heard from again, nor their remains found; picked clean by predators and their bones buried by the Wasteland.

Just another two life's among thousands lost in the Hellhole of the Capital Wasteland.


End file.
